Through the Boot

I set out from the warm radiator early. The living room felt still. Across the open hallway threshold, a heavy leather work boot blocked my route. I stopped. The leather looked stiff and smelled faintly of earth. I did not turn back. Lowering my snout, I pressed directly into the thick fold of the leather tongue. It creaked with dry friction. I braced my rear tail firmly against the parquet floorboards and gave a deliberate heave. The leather yielded an inch. Inside the dim cavern beneath the arch lay a polished copper washer, perfectly circular and bright in the morning draft. I nudged it deeper into the heel shadow with my right claw.